


Tongue-Tied

by sapphorror



Series: SebaCiel Kinkmas in July 2020 [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Consent Issues, Dacryphilia, Gags, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Rope Bondage, but not necessarily the good kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25143790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphorror/pseuds/sapphorror
Summary: He had handed himself over to a thing built to ruin, and he was being fucked like a beloved wife on her wedding night. Made love to by a demon, when he’d done everything in his power to assure he’d be destroyed.Perhaps that just meant this was another form of ruination.Ciel asks Sebastian to tie him up, and Sebastian is very good at giving Ciel what he wants, in the worst way possible.(Sebaciel Kinkmas in July, Day 7: Bondage)
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Series: SebaCiel Kinkmas in July 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821430
Comments: 12
Kudos: 112





	Tongue-Tied

**Author's Note:**

> I said my first work for Kuroshitsuji wasn't going to self-indulgent angst-porn. And I really meant it at the time!
> 
> The intro to this was originally intended as a drabble for Twitter, but then I thought it'd be fun to extend it for Kinkmas, and from there it got... out of hand.
> 
> Ciel is whatever age you want him to be.

“If you’re having second thoughts, young master, you need only command me to untie you.”

The shadows stretched long and thin across the floor of the bedroom, growing and receding like intakes of breath with every flicker of the candelabra. Sebastian was pacing the edges of visibility, back turned, footfalls crisp little clicks on mahogany floorboards. Puttering around with obscure purpose, and Ciel couldn’t be certain whether or not it was just the darkness making him seem taller.

And he still had the same damn uncanny talent to say whatever Ciel wanted to hear least. “Why would I be having second thoughts?” Ciel snapped, which was a stupid question, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Sebastian glanced back, hellfire eyes catching Ciel’s for a fleeting second before the darkness swallowed them again. “Most would be nervous about being bound under the mercy of a demon.”

“I’m not _nervous_.”

“Of course not. Which is why your heart rate has accelerated, your breathing gone high and rapid, and you’re eying every corner of the room like you expect something to come out and eat you.”

Ciel glowered at Sebastian’s indistinct figure from the bed, clicked his teeth in annoyance, and ignored the demon’s huff of amusement—the best he could do, when the damned thing was right and he was tied up like a package on silk sheets.

The rope was black and softer than Ciel had expected when he’d asked Sebastian to bind him—he didn’t waste time asking where in the world Sebastian had procured it. Two knots on his arms, one at his wrists, the other at his elbows, which _hurt,_ a burning stretch in his shoulders, but Ciel would bite off his own tongue before he told Sebastian to loosen it. Ankles linked to wrists by two cords, long enough to seem negligible, at least so long as he didn’t try to kick.

Tied helpless, kneeling on his bed, stripped to an unbuttoned nightshirt. A demon lurking in the shadows well past midnight, when no one would hear him if he started crying. Of course Ciel was having _second thoughts._

The threat of Hell itself couldn’t make him admit it, though.

The darkness parted like a curtain, and the demon emerged, no fangs or horns or twisting appendages to speak of, just eyes the color of burning coal and shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. Black and immaculate and at Ciel’s bedside in three easy strides. “Shush,” Sebastian murmured, so naggingly condescending Ciel wanted to throttle him, and before he could finish that thought Sebastian was kissing him.

Nothing new at all—not since Ciel, dizzy with champagne and adolescent hormones had in this exact same spot tangled his fingers in Sebastian’s hair and forced their lips together, _kept_ them there until Sebastian had to pry him off for fear of his faltering breath. Just to try it. A mistake, since Sebastian hadn’t _stopped_ kissing him since, and when he left Ciel flushed and breathless and hating him, he’d have the gall to ask, with that stupid sardonic smile, if the young master wanted him to _stop._

Ciel hated it. Hated how naturally Sebastian’s lips fit over his, how warm they were, how soft. Hated how Sebastian moved like he’d done it a thousand times before. Hated the feel of the demon’s perpetual half-smile, of its teeth growing sharp. Hated the way it sent tingles down to his toes and filled his head with fluffed cotton, made him hot and stupid and needy, made his breath catch like he was seven and sickly all over again, about to start coughing til he fainted.

Hated, most especially, how _gentle_ Sebastian could be, whenever Ciel least wanted it.

Sebastian pulled away, and now Ciel could see his fangs between parted lips. Hellfire eyes blazing, and Ciel had watched the demon long enough to know that meant _hunger._

“Now, young master,” and its voice was pin-filled black satin, rich chocolate sauce splashed over belladonna, “answer the question. Do you want me to untie you?”

Ciel growled low in his throat. “ _No._ ”

“Wonderful. Then we can proceed.”

Ciel clicked his teeth again. “About bloody time—”

“Just one more question, if I may?”

“ _What?_ ”

Sebastian’s grin was eating up half his face—Ciel could count every one of his pointed teeth. His eyes were brighter than the candles as he loosened his tie, slow, lazy movements. 

Ciel didn’t like talking when they did this—didn’t like _thinking._ It was something Sebastian seemed to have caught on to before Ciel knew it about himself, because the demon never shut up. 

“Just a point of curiosity, my lord.” The tie came undone, a trailing ribbon of black fabric. “I was simply wondering,” and he dropped it, let it flutter to the floor and lie there like spilled ink, “why it is,” deft hands moving over waistcoat buttons, quick as raven wings, “someone as obsessed with control as the young master would wish for me to fuck him _bound._ ”

Ciel’s breathing twisted in on itself.

The waistcoat dropped to the floor.

“It’s a simple question, young master.” Sebastian slung a knee up on the bed, too close and not close enough. One hand toyed along the buttons at his collar, considering. “Do mind your breathing. Wouldn’t want another attack.”

Ciel utterly and completely failed to mind his breathing. “I don’t see how it matters to _you—_ ”

“Oh, but it does.” The bed shifted as it took on Sebastian’s weight, and Ciel pitched back—just because he wasn’t used to balancing while bound like this, he told himself, _not_ because he had flinched. Sebastian caught him, because of course he did, and the touch, even just on his shoulder, even through cotton gloves and the linen of the nightshirt, was like a jolt of electricity straight through Ciel’s nervous system. 

Sebastian’s touch was like a symphony. Ciel speculated, sometimes, that it was the fault of Sebastian’s demonic nature, like the heat of his skin or his eerie, unfailing grace, or even that his own reaction was part of the contract, the brand burned into his soul responding to its maker—he convinced himself of neither. Sebastian’s touch had lit him up since he was ten years old and bloody and shaking. Tremors then, unpleasant, sickly tendrils curling around his bones. Still the same now, only the tendrils had become liquid fire as hot as Sebastian’s skin, and the tremors came with sparks that shot down to his toes.

Ciel had heard people talk of opium—of the cravings, of the things done to get it, of the deadly euphoria it brought once you had it. Ciel was beginning to think Sebastian’s touch, his long-fingered, fine-boned hands, his bare skin like sticking one’s arm in an open flame, were much the same.

“I know I’ve speculated much in the past about your enjoyment of the more… _strenuous_ acts you perform in service to the Queen,” Sebastian thumbed out the first button of his collar, then a few more, and Ciel tried not to stare at the curve of his exposed clavicle, “if being captured can be considered an act, that is. But I honestly never would have expected you to order yourself bound in your own bed.” The hand moved from Ciel’s shoulder to his jaw, tracing the path over his neck, and he had to suppress a full body shiver. “Not that it’s an uncommon desire, but you’ve always been a particular sort of… _demanding._ ”

“I hate you,” Ciel panted, pretending his eyes weren’t blown wide. “I _hate_ you.”

“Do you, darling?” And then Sebastian’s lips were at Ciel’s neck, rose petal soft, and all of Ciel’s resistance died in fire.

Obviously, it was not the first time they’d had sex. That had happened anywhere from eight to fifteen times, or even as many as twenty or thirty, if you listened to some of the more outlandish ideas of what qualified. It hadn’t been a long time coming after the kisses started, and Ciel remembered the first time—first _attempt_ —with perfect clarity. Right down to the asthma attack that had overcome him mid-way through.

The following attempts were… better, at least on the face of it. _Enjoyable_ _,_ even, to put it Sebastian’s way. If it usually ended in him crying—well, he had no verifiable evidence to suggest that wasn’t the ordinary state of affairs.

But. Then he’d had to start _thinking_ about it.

“Se— Sebast— _nh._ ” Sebastian’s teeth grazed over Ciel’s jugular, lingered at his pulse point, _didn’t_ bite down. “I— I—” Over Ciel’s collarbones, onto the soft joining of his neck and shoulder. “I just wanted it to be _easy,_ alright, you bloody damn demon _—ah!_ ”

Sebastian’s teeth sunk down, deep into the softest part of his shoulder, and Ciel could swear he felt those fangs carving into bone. It was a reward, not even a subtle one, for playing along, and Ciel should’ve been furious, shouldn’t have let it satisfy him, but it _hurt_ and the pain was so blindingly simple he could have cried.

Sebastian pulled away, and Ciel stared at the spot of blood on his lip, mesmerized, until he licked it away. In one movement he undid his shirt’s remaining buttons and shucked it off to settle with his discarded tie and waistcoat. “Please do elaborate, young master.”

And Ciel _shouldn’t_ have given in, but the sight of so much of Sebastian’s skin made him go light and hot and dizzy, in ways so intense as to be not entirely pleasant, and he just wanted Sebastian to stop talking so he could stop _thinking._ A strategic move, he’d tell himself later. Sometimes the quickest path to victory was compliance. All there was to it.

“It’s easier if I don’t have to—” _Participate. Think. Want it._ “—move. Just let you handle it. If it’s like those other times, if all I have to do is _take it,_ I thought— I thought that—”

“Ah,” the demon cut him off, and maybe it was mercy, or just concern for his breathing. “I think I understand, young master.”

And then Ciel was face-down on the bed, a gloved hand between his aching shoulder blades. He kicked, just because he could, and whined into silk sheets when the rope caught his ankle long before it hit Sebastian or the mattress. His head was already going soft, fuzzed at the edges.

Sebastian maneuvered him delicately, like he was one of Lizzie’s glass animals, prismatic and crystalline and destined to shatter. Placed his chest upon a pile of fluffed pillows, where the pull in his shoulders wasn’t so bad and his legs could almost lie flat. It was comfortable. It was obscene.

Sebastian kissed along his shoulder blades, over the dip of his spine. “Is there anything else you want?”

And a brilliant, terrible idea occurred.

“Gag me,” Ciel said, half into the pillows.

“Hm?”

“Gag. Me.”

A moment of silence, stillness behind him. “Are you sure, young master? If I restrict your speech, you will not be able to order me to stop. Your commands are bound verbally, you know this.”

Ciel _did_ know it, and he’d half-expected Sebastian to jump on the opportunity, to take the kind of advantage that would ensure Ciel regretted it ten times over. And maybe he still would. But the demon, damn him, had that high, slow note in his voice, the one that meant he didn’t understand something—or that he was pretending not to. Ciel couldn’t _tell,_ didn’t think anyone could, whatever real emotions Sebastian felt from his play-act of humanity. 

“I’m sure,” Ciel hissed, and filled it with as much venom as he could near naked and bent over a pile of pillows. “Gag me, Sebastian. That is an order.”

Ciel felt it ripple through him and into Sebastian, lighting up whatever magical bondage it was that held them together—he always did. Tangible power that was impossible to grasp, and maybe that was part of the reason Ciel didn’t issue true orders as often as he could. Because although sometimes it was easy, clear and fluid as water, one tug of the thread and the monster came following along, sometimes, just sometimes, the beast thrashed against his grip, and Ciel had to wonder how sturdy that spider’s thread really was.

It was easy this time, though. A moment of hesitation, reluctance or surprise, and the beast came, unquestioning. Ciel’s sixth sense fizzled back to nothingness.

Sebastian shifted over like a shadow, and Ciel got a split-second snapshot of his face—horribly, dreadfully blank, the expression he wore when there was nobody he cared to perform for. Or when he was thinking.

Delicately, he placed a fingertip between his teeth, bit down on soft cotton. Bared his hand in one motion, long, curling, black-tipped fingers slithering from white fabric. A flick of his wrist, before he plucked the glove from his teeth like a soiled napkin. Then he repeated the steps, agonizingly slow, with his left. Ciel’s gaze skated over the mark of their contract, its perfect black edges, before a hand turned his jaw and Sebastian slipped out of view. 

Ciel opened his mouth before Sebastian had the chance to tell him to, because the thought of following any order Sebastian gave rankled. Sebastian’s bare thumb swiped over his lip, hellfire hot, and the shiver that rolled through Ciel reached straight down to his toes. He let his eyes close.

And opened them again, with an offended shriek, when soft cotton was pushed into his mouth.

Sebastian’s glove—it took Ciel a second to put that together, to identify the five trailing fingers of cloth bunching around his tongue. He could feel the individual fibers of fabric, soft and prickling and soaking with saliva. Taste the stains of the day—demons didn’t sweat, but there were other things. Ciel could only guess at what. Soap, kitchen scraps, shoe polish.

_“Hush,_ ” Sebastian said, and pushed down on Ciel’s tongue. “Your order was unexpected, my lord. Unless you want me to leave and find something more suitable, you will have to settle for what I have on hand.”

Sebastian’s voice was dripping disdain, flat and inflectionless. His long fingers curled around hard little teeth, pushed back far enough to make Ciel’s throat flutter. Ciel toyed with the idea of biting down, just because he could. 

But Ciel didn’t want to be left alone, trussed up and helpless on his bed, while Sebastian found something else to gag him with. And this was exactly what he had asked for.

Ciel sagged and let Sebastian push the glove further back.

He left it settled between Ciel’s back molars and withdrew his fingers. Languorous. Ciel stared at the shimmer of spit on black nails.

The other glove followed the first. This time, Sebastian lingered. Nudging around fabric, tracing Ciel’s little white teeth. Pressing back until Ciel choked.

Sebastian rose from the bed. Ciel sucked on the gloves.

Sebastian came back with a long strip of black fabric, and it took Ciel a moment to recognize it as Sebastian’s tie. He pressed it over Ciel’s lips and looped it around the back of his head, brutally efficient.

“There, young master.” Sebastian’s voice had softened again, sweet and sticky. A hand ghosted up Ciel’s bare thigh, and if he leaned into the touch, it did not have to be remembered. “Is this what you wanted?”

It hadn’t been a show of trust, although Ciel was happy to let Sebastian think that. He didn’t expect Sebastian to handle him gently, to watch his comfort, to stop without an order. And that was the _point._

_Like all those other times. It’s easier._ Easier if he wasn’t giving orders. If he was helpless. If he couldn’t do anything, one way or the other.

Easier, if he didn’t have to answer Sebastian’s endless questions about what he wanted, and only had to take it. 

“What a contrary little master you are.” Sebastian settled over the dip of Ciel’s shoulders, kissed his nape. “Curious thing. To sell your soul for dominance over a demon, and then go to such pains to negate it. I can’t say I understand your motivations in the least.”

Sebastian’s tongue slipped down to the base of Ciel’s spine, his tightly curled fingers. Flickered across his knuckles, probing, sucking, not biting down. The demon’s own bare hands were a pair of hot irons, and Ciel could swear they left burns where they trailed over his sides, his torso, his soft, heaving stomach. _Stoptalkingstoptalkingstoptalking._

“To be hurt the way you have,” Sebastian licked along the small of Ciel’s back, settled a hand in the hollow of his hip, “to spend so much of your short little life making demands of me, scrabbling for an illusion of control,” took one soft thigh in hand, squeezed, “and then to lie down and beg to be gagged. Truly baffling, especially when one considers how you’ve acted every other time I’ve taken you. One might think you _wished_ to be raped.” There was a soft huff of breath over Ciel’s ass, laughter. “Humans do have such interesting ways of managing their shame and fear.”

Ciel growled into the gag and pretended he wasn’t shaking, that the noise didn’t come out soft and whimpery. _I’m not scared,_ was what he wanted to say, but his mouth was full of starched cotton and when Sebastian placed his tongue on him, _inside_ him, he couldn’t even manage to think it.

All the air went out of Ciel’s body in one long, low whine. Sebastian’s mouth was hotter than his hands, hot enough to be almost uncomfortable and _god,_ when he did this Ciel could swear the demon was slipping, that the tongue inside him reached places no human’s should be able to.

_One might think you wished to be raped._ It echoed in Ciel’s head as he squirmed atop the pillows, bouncing around like a child’s ball. Pleasure burned out the periphery and it was the only thing he could think, the only thing he’d ever thought.

Did he? Maybe he did.

Even if he did not wish for it, precisely, he didn’t think he would mind. Not so long as it was his demon doing the taking.

Which Sebastian wasn’t. This was all _give,_ hot mouth and curling tongue and nails pressed into his soft thighs. Not like any rape Ciel had experienced, the brutality of that one long month or the comparatively gentle groping of disgruntled Italian mafiosos and Weston toughs, or even the advances of the amorous Viscount Druitt, which might have passed for _loving_ in another context. There was no resemblance, no matter how well trussed up Ciel was, the heat too all-consuming, the touches too careful, and Ciel didn’t know whySebastian wouldn’t just _take._

Ciel sniffled into the pillow, and at least _that_ was something familiar. Sex always made him cry, embarrassing, revealing tears, but he couldn’t even find it in himself to hate it.

He kicked at Sebastian, managed to clip his shoulder before the rope pulled taut.

“Oh, _shh._ ” Sebastian pulled away, a wet pop of flesh. Rubbed soothing circles into Ciel’s hip. “ _Darling._ ”

He really, really needed to tell Sebastian to stop calling him that. 

There was a shift behind him and Sebastian’s presence was gone, replaced by a cool void. Ciel bit into saliva-soaked gloves and listened. A shuffle of fabric, clinking of glass.

Ciel knew what was coming before he felt it—oil-slicked fingers at his entrance, and then inside him, warm and rigid and even longer than Sebastian’s tongue. They curled, pressed up into him, and Ciel keened.

“Hush, now,” Sebastian cooed, kissing it into his shoulders. “This is what you wanted, is it not? To just _take it?_ ”

What he had _wanted._ What a joke _._

He hadn’t wanted Sebastian to work him open like a present, with fingers and tongue and lovely words that belonged in the mouth of a good man, spoken to someone much more deserving of them than Ciel. He hadn’t wanted anything at all. 

He’d wanted to stop having to fucking _want._

He pushed back into Sebastian’s hand, too fast, too hard. It burned, fingers pressed too deep, and the pain was familiar, turned his muscles to jelly and sent his vision wet and swimming, made him think of wanting to _die._ It was perfect.

It only lasted a moment though, before Sebastian had his hip in hand and withdrew his fingers, leaving Ciel aching in a new way entirely. Ciel growled uselessly into the pillows. It sounded more like a sob.

“Ah-ah-ah. You gave up control, remember? I decide the pace.”

Ciel flinched when something cool dripped over his backside—more oil, _lots_ of it, running in fat, wet rivulets down his thighs. How much was Sebastian wasting, giving Ciel slick he didn’t want?

The fingers returned, two, then three, far too slowly. An aching stretch, too cautious to really hurt. 

“My sad little master,” Sebastian sighed, curling his fingers. The hot breath of it crawled across Ciel’s neck. “So very, _very_ broken. To offer yourself up to your servant, and feel frustration when he treats you gently.”

Ciel buried his face in the pillows, and bit the gloves so he would not bite his tongue.

“You want me to hurt you.” Deeper. “You want to be victimized.” And up. “Is that title you worked so hard for too heavy around your neck, little master? Would you rather play the helpless child again?” A hook, and Sebastian’s fingers snagged on something that made every one of Ciel’s nerves light up, made his toes curl and things in his chest do backflips. “That is, when it’s _easy.”_

And the fingers were gone again, along with the demon hovering at his back. Ciel craned to look over his shoulder, glared at Sebastian through watery eyes. He was beautiful, of course, wrapped in shadow and candlelight, lean muscle and dark hair and a body cut just a little too perfect to be human. He preened under Ciel’s stare, the damn vain thing, stretched his arms high over his head and grinned wide enough to show every inhuman tooth.

“You know I’m happy to indulge you, young master.” Sebastian leaned back down, caging Ciel between long arms and burning eyes. Ciel wrenched his gaze away, stuffed his face into the pillow, refused to watch the thing that would destroy him. “But it is in the contract, is it not? I must protect my master. I cannot hurt him. And you have commanded countless times that I not act without orders.” Sebastian’s nose brushed the nape of Ciel’s neck as he slotted over him, encompassing. The demon took up all the space around Ciel and didn’t leave any room left for air. “How inconvenient for you, waiting to be torn apart by a tame dog.”

Slowly, like the crushing death of a cave-in or the endless abyss of drowning, Sebastian entered him.

Ciel’s perception narrowed to that single point of contact—he couldn’t see or hear himself whimper or even sense the demon above him kissing soothing, disgusting things into his neck. He was aware only of being filled, his voluntary violation, and he was so slick and stretched and Sebastian was going so slow that it didn’t hurt. That was the worst part. It didn’t hurt at all.

Usually, this was the bit where things went wrong. The first time, it had been the asthma attack—and _god_ did Ciel wish he could scrub that lingering stain of a memory away, the blind panic of not being able to breathe and a flavor of humiliation he’d never before tasted. He’d never had a second attack (though perhaps only because Sebastian was _very_ careful to monitor his breathing), but the shivering paralysis mixed with desperate need wasn’t much better. Fight, flight, or freeze, only the rest of him _wanted_ to be devoured by the beast, and he could never tell whether it was the terror or the heat that was irrational. 

It’d been better, after the first few times. It had stopped driving him quite so out of his head. But it was like being underwater and holding his breath, a constant knot of tension. And Sebastian’s damn questions didn’t help. _Do you want this, young master?_ Did he?

He hadn’t known. He _still_ didn’t know. It was exhausting, trying to untangle his own head. Embarrassing, to change his orders every minute, to stutter and cry and stop breathing all over a little touch. In this room, behind these walls, his panic was paper-thin, and Sebastian witnessed every blade-edged scrap of it.

How long ago, was it, that he’d first considered having Sebastian tie him up? That he’d thought it’d be easier not to be the one giving orders?

How long ago since the first time he’d cried in the dark and dreamed of Sebastian taking something he had not been offered?

Gradually, Ciel began to feel things again. Sebastian inside him was still eclipsing, but he was aware of the fingertips tracing hipbones, the soft mouth that had ripped men’s throats open sucking purple bruises into his shoulders. The cooing murmur of Sebastian’s voice, though words escaped him. He didn’t stop shaking.

Sebastian had stilled inside him, almost but not quite bottomed out, waiting for him with unbearable patience. Ciel whined, rocked his hips back, and got a miniscule forward movement in return.

And it went on like that. Ciel biting into his gag and squirming, whimpering and whining like he was having a nightmare, and Sebastian rewarding him in increments, slow rolling motions as he whispered filthy things like _pretty little master_ and _so beautifully broken_ into his hair. Ciel wished he’d just call him a ha’penny tart and be done with it—that wouldn’t feel half so dirty.

Eventually, it worked itself into some kind of rhythm, as dreadfully slow as choral music. Gentle as fluffed down. Rolling, steady undulations and firm hands on his hips, his thighs, his prick. Whatever stretch there had been was gone now, and it was just Sebastian pushing into his open, inviting heat. Giving, again, in such plenty Ciel was overflowing with it, and he kicked and writhed and sobbed into his gag.

He had handed himself over to a thing built to ruin, and he was being fucked like a beloved wife on her wedding night. _Made love to_ by a demon, when he’d done everything in his power to assure he’d be destroyed.

Perhaps that just meant this was another form of ruination.

The bindings did what he’d intended them to, even if Sebastian didn’t. The knots on his arms didn’t give, no matter how much he twisted, and his kicking hurt him far more than Sebastian. He chewed on fabric and swallowed pleas. There was nothing he could do, nothing at all, to make Sebastian do what he wanted.

He just had to take it.

And finally, _finally,_ Ciel stopped thinking.

It was like his head turned to fluffed cotton soaked in sea water—soft, substanceless, and weighed down. He was all sensation, singular, because everything was blurring, the flickering candlelight and silk sheets, the bindings and the devilish hands and the cock inside him. It felt _good,_ and he hated it, and he loved it, and it didn’t fucking matter what he felt because all there was to do was feel it.

Ciel had learned that sometimes—oftentimes, if you were the Queen’s Watchdog and held the name Ciel Phantomhive—misery became so terrible that it compounded itself, created a despair so great that you couldn’t despair at all. Surroundings washed into one, time dissolved into an endless now, and you wouldn’t be able to hold onto a thought, lest you parse what was happening to you. Your world became feeling only, divorced from context.

This was that. Only what Ciel was feeling wasn’t misery.

Ciel went limp as a ragdoll, and Sebastian held him up, bit marks that would last days just below his collar line. His body was one massive, pleasurable ache, and he was lost in the haze, floating as the demon rolled into him no less gently for his incoherence. He was losing track of which hand was where, and didn’t know if it was his own senses or Sebastian’s human form that was slipping, and most importantly he didn’t _care._ The ache pulsed with every touch, every movement, so it hardly mattered where it was coming from.

And at some point Sebastian must’ve touched his cock, probably, because he came, and he didn’t realize the shaking watery vibrations through him were an orgasm until after they had already passed. He was shivering, from toes to gagged lips, and he could parse Sebastian again, a head and a dick and two arms and _that damn voice_ on his periphery.

The dick pulled out and left him feeling vaguely hollow, while the arms set to work on the knots. He could feel the hard, heavy ember stare from the head, and the voice was talking, though Ciel wasn’t listening.

His arms tingled when they were freed, and he couldn’t quite figure out how to move them. _“Careful,_ ” Sebastian murmured, and it was the first word Ciel understood.

Sebastian pulled free his tie next, and Ciel managed to push out the spit-soaked gloves. His mouth still felt like it was stuffed with wads of cotton. 

Sebastian massaged his arms until he could move them again—they still tingled, in a way Ciel didn’t quite find unpleasant—before drifting from the bed, replacing the oil on the shelf and retrieving his discarded clothes. It was an annoying quirk of Sebastian’s, his tendency to redress immediately after sex, but it wasn’t a habit Ciel dared break him of.

Ciel squeezed the pillows close and worked a knot out of his jaw. Wetness seeped out of him, and Ciel wondered if it was just oil or if the demon had come. He didn’t always. Ciel didn’t want to ask.

Sebastian reappeared by the bedside, fully dressed but for his gloves and tie. His eyes were dull russet, and his face had settled back to its repose of placid, empty servitude. Perfect formality, his black butler. Nothing to see here.

“Was that what you wanted, young master?”

_Want._ That word again, of course. Was it? It certainly wasn’t what he’d envisioned, and it was exactly what he had asked for, but were either of those really the same thing? Did it _matter?_ He couldn’t pin his feelings down, had no desire to. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to think again until morning.

He made a soft noise into the pillows. The demon could take it however he wished.

Sebastian’s expression didn’t change. “And is there anything else you need now?”

Ciel looked himself over. “Not really.”

“You’ll require a bath, or at least a wash, before you sleep.”

“Nh. Few more minutes.”

“Very well.”

Sebastian turned. Stopped. “Ah, one last thing.”

Ciel barely looked up. “Mn?”

“Shall I excuse myself once you’ve been properly settled in, or do you wish me to remain with you here tonight?”

It was a calculated question, of course. Weighted. Ciel had never before permitted the demon to stay after these encounters, not any longer than he’d had to. They left him vulnerable, and when it came to Sebastian, Ciel was like a dog taking shelter to lick its wounds. There was no reason that should change now.

“Stay here, Sebastian,” Ciel murmured. He didn’t worry about whether it was a victory or a defeat. “Just until I fall asleep.” And then, because he could, because he wanted to feel his demon pulled along by their spider’s thread, he added, “That’s an order.”

The beast smiled, and every one of its teeth were human.

“Yes, my lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter @sapphxrror. comments, as ever, feed the writer.


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